Forget-Me-Not by Sa-kun
Summary: Everyone seems to have forgotten that the Boy-Who-Lived exists. Harry's friends don't remember who he is. It's a struggle for Harry to hold on to reality as he knows it, while at the same time coming to terms with who he really is. He finds Snape an unexpected ally in the struggle that ensues to reclaim his identity. 6th year AU. (Harry is gay)
Categories: Teacher Snape > Trusted Mentor Snape, Parental Snape > Guardian Snape, Teacher Snape > Professor Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Charlie, Draco, Original Character, Other, Pomfrey
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Angst, Family, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery
Media Type: None
Tags: Alternate Universe
Takes Place: 6th Year
Warnings: Alcohol Use, Neglect, Profanity, Romance/Slash
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 17 Completed: No Word count: 94180 Read: 75300 Published: 19 Oct 2010 Updated: 25 Nov 2011
Chapter 2 by Sa-kun
Author's Notes:
Thanks for the reviews.

Also, someone wondered why Harry could walk around in London the way he does. Well, there is a reason. Which I will be explaining in a later chapter. Enjoy!
—CHAPTER 2—

Derek had a strange gleam in his eyes when Harry entered the by now familiar room and seated himself on the sofa opposite to Derek's armchair the following week.

"Derek?" he asked, apprehension swirling in his gut. HARRY really didn't like the look in Derek's normally gentle eyes. His blue eyes were normally bright and warm, somehow. Usually, they invited Harry to speak and share his secrets without a second thought, he wasn't sure why, but Derek's eyes had that effect on him. So now, today, seeing them all disconnected and shadowed… It sent a frisson of fear and discomfort down Harry's spine.

"A week ago my adopted son received a very strange letter," Derek began, voice hushed.

The low voice and furtive glance at the door made Harry frown, his stomach churning with a sudden onslaught of nervousness.

"The letter was made of parchment, Harry. So my partner and I took Tom – that's our son's name – as the letter requested, to an abandoned building with an old fashioned phone box." Dread swiftly replaced Harry's earlier apprehension and he paled, wondering how he could have been so bloody stupid as go to a Muggle for advice. Suddenly he knew exactly where this was going and he didn't like it the slightest, oh no. "They, in turn, took us to a highly remarkable pub."

"…the Leaky Cauldron," Harry murmured, surprised at how steady his voice sounded, given how he felt as if someone had just pulled the floor out from underneath his feet.

"Yes," Derek said simply.

Was it possible to hate such a small, simple and uncomplicated word? Right then, Harry almost did.

Harry bit his lip and looked away, feeling both sad and ashamed, and the worst part, he reckoned, was that he wasn't really sure why he felt that way. Was it because his lie had been called, or because now Derek'd know he was Harry Potter, and he'd probably been told so much else… Or was it because, for some reason, it felt like his entire world had just come crashing down his ears. Over the few weeks that Harry had been to see Derek, the man had somehow become his one safety line. Security blanket. Derek was a constant; Derek didn't change. He was always the same, always treated Harry as if he was the most normal, wonderful bloke in the whole of London.

But he'd done that because he'd thought Harry was someone else. Because he thought Harry was Harry Evans. Because he was a Muggle – utterly clueless about wizards and magic and lightning bolt-shaped scars.

Because he didn't know that Harry was really Harry Potter; and even if Derek had known, he wouldn't have known.

Until now.

"Imagine my surprise, Harry, to learn that not only have you been lying to me, but that there is not a single person in the Magical Community who does not know who you are. Harry Potter. Insane. Dangerous. Questionably dark. The warning speech to stay away from you was rather illogical and convoluted."

Harry flinched. "I'm sorry, Derek. I'll leave, all right?" he muttered. His eyes stung.

"No. Stay." Harry's heart pounded. Derek shook his head, pulling off his glasses. He rubbed his eyes. "Nothing they said matches anything of what I've learned directly from you. It does, however, offer you a unique opportunity should you wish to take it."

Harry couldn't close his mouth. His hands were trembling so bad he couldn't even clench them into fists. Did that mean Derek wasn't about to toss him out on his ear?

"I'm not going to demand that you leave. Harry," Derek said, seeing and once again reading Harry correctly. Derek was really good at that. "I know who you are; I have known all along. It's just that I know more now."

Harry frowned. He blinked several times, then shifted around until he was curled up on the sofa, his feet tucked up underneath him.

Derek smiled, a tiny little smile. "I am a mere 'Muggle', Harry. I can't judge you. But I can read up on you, now. And this means you won't have to hold back any more. You can tell me about magic, if you want."

A hesitant smile settled on Harry's face. He crossed his arms and shifted around on the sofa, until he was stretched out in a proper slouch so that his toes could burrow beneath the soft pillow on the other end of it. His feet were bare, the shoes having been toed off almost before he'd sat down properly on the couch. "It'll all be a bunch of lies, anyway, y'know, if you read up on me," he blurted, before changing the subject. "When I was little all I wanted was for someone to come take me away. And it happened. Is happening. But now…now I just want to be little Potty Potter again… A nobody. Nobody gave a toss back then about what I did or said."

"You were bullied as a child?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose. Back then, I just thought it was normal, though. Didn't realise until I was about ten or so that no one else had freak cousins they treated like House Elves." Derek frowned. "Magical beings. They cook and clean, most treat them worse than slaves, most of the time."

Derek smiled humourlessly, then said, "I thought you might have been abused as a child."

"Yeah?" Harry asked shakily. He wasn't that obvious, was he? It was just, if it was that obvious, then why hadn't anyone noticed?

"Yes. It's in the way you talk, in the way you act. But I got the feeling you would not appreciate being outright asked."

Harry was sure his heart stopped beating for a moment. "That's just, just mad!" he exclaimed. "I'm not like that! It's not like that! You know, I read in the paper once that it wasn't the adults' job to ask! 'Cause that would've been too fucking easy, so big bloody 'NO' to that. And, oh, no," Harry sneered, "we have to bloody well work up the courage and come out and say it ourselves, because God knows if we don't, then we bloody well don't deserve to be saved. I wasn't… They didn't—" Harry scowled, glaring at his toes. "I still can't bloody say it!" he burst out.

"And why is that, Harry? I know; you can tell me."

Harry's eyes blazed. "I don't bloody well know!"

"Please, indulge me. Why do you think that is?"

"Perhaps, because the one time I did tell, they didn't believe me?" he yelled. "They said I was a nasty little liar, that I was always making up these big, fancy ideas and no one ever believed me!"

"Harry. It was not your fault." Derek said this very slowly, ignoring Harry's disbelieving scoff, the man went on to say, "Perhaps a part of it is because you still believe, as some do, that you, in some way, deserved what they did to you."

"Well of course I did!" Harry shouted before he could stop himself.

"No." Derek shook his head, a kind smile on his lips. "No, Harry, you don't. You never have. It was not your fault."

Harry paused. He ran his hands through his hair, making it stand on edge even more than was normal, even for him. "I…"

"Yes?"

"I used to do a lot accidental magic when I was a kid," he heard himself say. "My Aunt and Uncle hated it. They'd punish me. I didn't know about magic when I was little, though, so I never got what it was that I did that was so bad. And Dudley, my cousin, he and his friends they had this game called 'Harry Hunting'. I only got away if I could run the fastest. I hated it when they caught me," the words were tumbling out almost on their own. Harry almost hated that he had to breathe, because he was afraid if he stopped, then he wouldn't be able to start talking again. "I'd be locked up inside…inside… They'd lock me up—"

"Harry?"

Harry took a slow, deep breath, then let it out just as carefully. "In my cupboard. My Aunt and Uncle'd lock me up in my cupboard. I'd get water, maybe, but not food. I had…I had to earn food. And I was never good enough, not to them. My tummy hurt so much. I can't remember not doing all the chores. I've been cooking and cleaning for them since I could walk, I—" Harry sucked in a deep breath. "They never hit me, much. Just slapped me round. I thought my name was 'Boy' or 'Freak' for years." Harry had been talking to his feet, not looking up at Derek once.

Derek placed a hand over his. "Harry," he said, coaxing Harry to look up. "Thank you for telling me."

"Derek?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I told, once."

"Who did you tell?"

Harry bit his lip, tugged at his T-shirt. "My nursery school teacher. I told her about…about— them. And then she told the headmaster, who called Aunt and Uncle. They were so angry," he whispered. "They shouted at me, said I was a filthy little boy. A liar. And, and they told the headmaster and my teacher that, said that I was a nasty little liar who made up the nastiest tales for just a little bit of attention."

He hadn't been given food for a week. They'd locked him up in his cupboard for days on end. It was one of the few times he could remember that his Uncle actually slapped him around.

"Will it go away now?" Harry asked in a shy, small voice.

"It is a gradual process, Harry, but I think we can work on it, together, for it to go away. All right?"

Harry nodded, giving Derek a shy smile. "All right."

—x—

The next time Harry saw Derek, was a Wednesday. It was a bad day. He hadn't felt this awful since… Probably since he thrashed Dumbledore's office.

"Harry?" Derek prompted him, just once.

Harry took a deep breath. Then, feeling as if he were about to cry, said, "My godfather died."

"Would you like to tell me about him?" Derek asked in a hushed tone.

Harry nodded. He'd brought his knees up on the sofa and was hugging them to his chest. "His name was Sirius Black," Harry began, and the rest of the tale tumbled out after that one, simple sentence. About the Shrieking Shack in third year, about Buckbeak, about how he'd been given his broom by him.

About how Sirius had really been the only family he'd ever had. At least the only family who'd ever wanted him. Harry worked his way up to fifth year, and once he started talking about fifth year, other tales tumbled out. He distracted himself by telling Derek first about Umbridge and her detentions. He even showed the scar on his hand. Then, when that became too close for comfort, he changed the subject again and started talking about Snape. It took a lot of time explaining about Occlumency and the pensive.

Derek stared at him for several long seconds, his eyes thoughtful. "Do you understand why he was so angry with you?"

"'Cause I'd seen how awful my Dad and his friends were to him," Harry answered promptly.

Derek didn't appear satisfied with that answer. "How did you feel?"

"I felt ashamed and horrible that Dad was a bully. I felt that if I'd have been at school with them, he probably would've bullied me, too."

Derek considered him again. "How did you feel about the fact that you, in your own words, basically raped your professor's mind, exposing his most guarded secrets, Harry?"

"But…Dumbledore let me watch his."

"Harry, you said yourself how you absolutely hated that Professor Snape could see your thoughts, your memories."

"Yeah. I did."

"Because they were yours." Harry nodded. "Would he have done it if Professor Dumbledore hadn't told him to do it?"

Harry's instantaneous 'yes' died on his tongue. Snape might have read his thoughts, the ones at the front of his mind that he couldn't help but project as he ate, talked, thought. But Harry couldn't ever remember feeling someone actually break into his mind, ever. "No," Harry admitted.

"So what you did was break into a defenceless mind. Professor Snape was given no chance to defend himself. Because you felt it was your right. Because you were curious. Harry," Derek urged, "it wasn't your right. While throwing a jar at your head might not have been the best response, Professor Snape was entirely in his right to throw you out. Do you understand?"

The confusion must have shown on his face, because Derek pursed his lips for a little while. Then he said, "Harry, what you did was bad. Do you understand?"

"Bad, how?" Harry whispered.

"You broke his trust. Professor Dumbledore was wrong not to inform you how badly you had misbehaved when you stumbled into his pensive. I think, at the very least, that you owe your Professor Snape an apology." Derek paused. "But, you won't apologise until you mean it. There is no greater insult than empty words."

"Okay," Harry agreed, feeling utterly confused and mortified at the same time. "I will."

"This is something we need to work on and expand. It comes back to your Aunt and Uncle, Harry," Derek explained gently. "Their punishments of you were illogical and inconsistent. But they didn't care, something you've told me they made quite clear." Harry nodded, eyes lowered. "So you didn't, either. You never learned to feel remorse, guilt or feel as if you were a naughty boy. You learned evasion, how to get away and how to be invisible."

"I always felt I was the one who was right, that they didn't understand me at all, 'cause they hated me so much," Harry admitted.

Derek offered him some tea, then, and biscuits which Harry half-heartedly nibbled on.

"Will you tell me about your godfather now, Harry?"

Harry choked. "Okay," he whispered. So he haltingly began to tell Derek about what had happened after he had looked into Snape's pensive, and after he'd been captured in Umbridge's office.

He told Derek about the Department of Mysteries.

He told Derek about the fight. About the confusion. He didn't tell him about the Prophecy, or how Voldemort had possessed him.

He told Derek how Sirius'd been hit by a curse and how he'd fallen, behind the Veil.

That was a hurt he knew how to feel. And a guilt he was very familiar with.

Harry wasn't quite prepared when Derek told him it wasn't his fault.

—x—

Harry didn't look up when there was a knock on the door. "S'open," he called.

He was folding his clothes, alternatively hanging them up properly in his closet. They were all freshly laundered and all smelled of sunlight and freshly mowed grass. They'd been hung up to dry outside. He knew there were probably fancy spells he could've used instead, but he wasn't of age, yet, and besides, he rather liked hanging his clothes up outside to dry them. Last summer, it must have been either Kreacher or Mrs Weasley who'd washed his clothes, but since neither of them were here this summer, well. It wasn't like Harry'd never done it before.

There was a laundrette a couple of streets down from Grimmauld Place. Harry'd dragged his dirty laundry there every Sunday since he'd left the Dursleys. Maybe there was another way for him to do it magically, but no one had ever bothered to tell him about it, and he definitely wasn't about to start washing his clothes by hand. Besides, doing it the Muggle way meant he at least had something to do other than seeing Derek and pining for Charlie. Not that he was pining, exactly, but he did spend an awful amount of time fantasising.

Mostly, Charlie was suave and seductive, finding Harry in his bedroom dark at night, or walking in on him in the shower not-entirely-by-mistake, or Charlie was taking a nap on the sofa downstairs, and Harry would walk inside the room without noticing. Charlie's shirt'd be gone, and his hair'd be tousled and sexy. They'd talk about something, about what wasn't important. Harry'd stop listening, because Charlie's fit chest would distract him, and—

"'Lo, Harry."

Harry jumped.

"Charlie! Hi." Harry smiled. His ears felt white-hot, his fingers suddenly a touch or two unsteady. He was just glad he wasn't entirely red in the face.

Charlie smiled back at him.

Harry wet his lips. "I didn't know you were back," he said lamely.

"Arrived just this morning," Charlie told him.

The smile on Charlie's face made Harry's heart speed up – well, more than it was already racing after having had Charlie unknowingly walk in on him while having a fantasy about walking in on Charlie. Well, sort of, anyway. Charlie closed the door behind his back. It wasn't until then that Harry considered how long it'd been since he'd last seen Charlie. Charlie'd only stayed a couple of days after they'd gone to the cinema, then he'd had to go back to Romania. That had been three weeks ago.

Charlie cleared his throat. "Well, you see. There was this thing Ginny wanted me to do."

"Yeah?" Why couldn't Ginny ask him herself?

Charlie rolled on the balls of his feet, looking rather content and not all that concerned. "I have been commanded to 'talk' to you about your…behaviour lately, was it?"

Harry looked up and frowned, his eyes narrowed. "My what?"

Charlie shrugged. "Your behaviour, Harry. She says you've been going off at odd hours, sneaking around. I dunno." Charlie walked over and sat down on the bed, next to the pile of clothes Harry was going through.

"Oh. I see." Harry balled up a pair of socks and tossed them towards his sock drawer. "She could've asked."

Charlie leaned back. "Is it just me, or is everyone acting strange lately?"

That made Harry pause. "I haven't really thought about it, I've been so caught up with, with…" …with himself, too busy to take note of what going on around him. Unless it had something to do with Charlie, of course. "Your parents haven't really been here once this summer, have they? I don't think I've seen Ron and Hermione since middle of June, either." Had he really been so busy that he hadn't noticed that?

"Yeah," Charlie agreed. "Ginny's here. Snape, Lupin. Dumbledore from time to time. I asked Mum and Dad before I came over, but… I dunno. They just said not to worry about it, that it'd all work out for the best, I'd see. And so on." Charlie shook his head. "Enough about that. How've you been since our date?"

Harry's face rivalled the colour of Charlie's hair. Not exactly an easy feat. "Our what?" he stammered.

Charlie's grin was easy and teasing. "You know, when I took you to the cinema. Shared a drink with you. The armrest, even, if I remember right." Charlie nudged him on the shin with his foot. "You have been watching me, right?"

Harry shrugged. This time, he was watching his toes and his fingers were trembling as he folded his socks. "So what if I have?" he muttered.

"Maybe I've been watching you, too?" Charlie said, voice deep and low. His foot rubbed slowly up and down on Harry's shin.

Harry started. Charlie fancied him? His heart was pounding like mad. He must have been grinning like a loon. But… Blanching, Harry hurriedly held up a hand, and almost blurted, "Still not really comfy about the whole, um, gay thing, mate. With the, um, sex and all. I've been told to just, you know, let it take its time. And, I mean—"

"Harry." Harry closed his mouth with an audible click. "No rush, okay?"

"Okay," Harry agreed. His smile was much shyer now.

But then Charlie's face lit up in a decidedly scary, but fuck so sexy, way. "But that means that one day I do get to shag you, doesn't it?"

"God," Harry squeaked, throat dry and heart hammering away entirely too fast and hard in his chest. Charlie wanted to shag him? Harry's prick was standing to attention at the mere mention of it, but his mind wasn't quite as keen on the idea. It was starting to become appealing, but he wasn't quite all the way there yet. "Yes. Definitely!"

"Oh, yes," Charlie agreed. "Definitely." He stood up and arched his back. Harry's eyes were riveted to the freckled skin that peeked out.

Harry grinned, cheeks pink, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Yes. Great!"

But then Charlie reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders. Harry stumbled, righted himself and looked up. Charlie's eyes were level with his own. And he was so close – so fucking close! "Charlie—"

"Just a moment," he whispered. His hands were on either side of Harry's face, holding him close but not really restraining him.

Then Charlie kissed him. It was warm, wet and bloody wonderful.

"Oh," Harry said, blinking his eyes. His hands were on Charlie's sides, resting on the warm, firm body. Harry didn't think he'd ever felt anything that felt as good before. Except for that kiss. That abso-fucking-lutely brilliant kiss.

Charlie grinned. "Yeah, quite." He kissed him again, then again and again.

Harry was grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. Charlie smoothed his thumbs over Harry's face, just beneath his eyes. "No rush," he said again.

"Okay. Yeah."

—x—

Harry made very sure to walk different, entirely random ways every time he went to see Derek. Call him paranoid, but the last thing he wanted was yet someone-else's death on his hands. This time, though, he wasn't heading for Derek's office. And, yeah, that was more than a little bit scary, cause, well. Derek had invited him to his home. He'd given Harry his address, given instructions on how to get there, written down the code to the gate, and when to show up. All in all, it had gone rather smoothly.

Harry remembered hearing about how hard it was finding a place to live in London. And how ruddy expensive. Yeah, he imagined being a psychologist paid really well, but he couldn't help but wonder what Alec did. Because a flat in London? This big? What had Derek said, five bedrooms arranged over two levels?

Had to be way more than just ruddy expensive. Like sell-your-soul-to-the-devil expensive.

Feeling a fair bit anxious, Harry reached out and rang the doorbell.

It felt like forever until Derek opened the door. "Harry!"

"Um, hi," Harry said. "It's, um. Big."

Derek broke out into a dazzling smile. "Alec inherited the place," he said, as if that was in some way better. "We have lived here for years. The children rather like it."

"Okay," Harry said. He followed Derek into a bloody huge sitting room.

Derek turned to the man sitting down on the sofa. "Alec, this is Harry. Harry, Alec."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said, tentatively shaking the man's outstretched hand.

"Likewise," Alec murmured, eyes cool and calculating. "You're that Potter kid the Ministry Official was talking about."

With a scowl, Harry nodded, and reflexively reached to tug his fringe down over his scar. Still, he wasn't all that sure he got why everyone was talking about him if they didn't like him any more. Wouldn't it be better to just forget about him? "I prefer Harry," said. He started when someone poked him in the back. A boy stood behind him, with green-sort-of-grey eyes.

"And this is Tom."

"I'm Harry."

Tom tilted his head to the side. "They say I'm going to be a wizard, you know."

"Yeah?"

The boy nodded. "Is it really true? Magic and all?"

"Didn't they take you to Diagon Alley?"

"Of course."

Harry laughed. "Then you've seen magic. I didn't want to leave, ever, the first time I was there."

Tom shrugged. "Come on," he said.

Bemused, Harry followed. Harry cast a look at Derek, but he was talking to Alec about something and didn't seem to notice.

"Dad's been talking a lot about you." Tom showed Harry inside the kitchen. On the kitchen table were several books about magic, none of them on the list of required readings. At least, not that Harry could remember. He wondered, not for the first time, what it would've been like if he'd had someone like Derek when he first got his Hogwarts letter.

"Well, I've been talking a lot with him."

"Mmmhmm." Tom nodded. Then, "You don't look like a wizard, Harry."

"It's because I grew up as a Muggle. But, you know, they don't like me very much at the moment in the Wizarding world. They think I'm mental," Harry said sombrely and Tom promptly burst out laughing. That probably had something to do with the fact that Harry was seeing Derek on a regular basis.

"So it is true," Alec said from the doorway, Derek was standing right behind him. Harry started; he hadn't heard the men approach. Alec looked to be a little older than Derek, with a few more crow's feet by his eyes, mouth a little more lined.

Harry gave a cautious nod, his eyes unreadable. Alec didn't give off the instant, friendly vibe that Derek did. Or Tom, for that matter. "Yeah. I—I'm sorry. I was going to ask if you…if you'd consider agreeing to having some magical protection put on your house. To keep you safe; I shouldn't have come to see you, Derek, I'm sorry—"

"It is not, and never will be, your fault, Harry. Neither of us could've predicted that Tom would be a wizard. If he had never been accepted to Hogwarts, I would never have known about you."

"But still," Harry insisted, almost desperately. He had issues, yeah, he knew that and Derek knew that, but some of them were so deeply ingrained he couldn't shake them.

"No, Harry. No 'buts'. It's not your fault." Harry bit his lip, but didn't argue.

"What kind of protection were you referring to?" Alec asked.

Harry knew the answer to that question, at least, so he began listing spells, "Fidelus Charm. maybe. Confuddlement. Wards. Protection. Notice-Me-Nots, those kinds of things. I've a friend who can help me, since I'm not of age yet. I'd feel much better if you did."

"Yes, Harry, but what are they?"

"Oh." Harry flushed.

—x—

Harry stared silently out the window of Derek's office. "Derek?"

"Yes, Harry?"

Remaining silent for a short while longer, Harry traced his chapped lips with a forefinger. "My Aunt hates me."

"I am aware."

"Do you know why?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Derek shake his head. "I don't really know why, either, but I think it's because Mum was a witch and she wasn't. I think she was so jealous of Mum, that Mum was a witch and she wasn't, that she started to hate everything that had to do with Mum and magic." Harry bit his lip. "Do Tom and Beka have the same parents? I mean, biologically?"

"Yes," and Derek sounded pained when he said it. Sad. "Alec's…Alec's sister passed away when Beka was a baby and Tom a toddler. None of us ever knew the father, but she insisted it was the same man who had fathered both of them."

Harry nodded and felt himself relax a little bit. "I'm glad. Beka could be a witch, you know. I'm not sure if you can test it or something, but, you know. There's a chance. Do you know the name of the father?"

Derek sat himself on the sofa next to Harry with a groan. "West. It's their and Alec's last name, and the kids' Mum's. She most often referred to her lover as her 'Lord Princeling'. He always brought her expensive gifts. She named him, once, but I can't remember the name…it was quite unusual." He held out a framed photo, and Harry accepted it with a nod. He gave a quick smile at Tom's stoic pose, spoiled by the pirate outfit and the wide grin. He wasn't smiling when he looked closer at Tom's sister, though. The small, fine boned, delicate girl with sharp silver eyes that were far, far too familiar.

"Malfoy?" he questioned, a little hesitant.

Derek stilled. "Yes, that might be it."

"Oh."

—x—

That night Harry locked himself — metaphorically speaking — inside the Black Family Library. He went over books of linage and genealogy until his eyes felt as if they were glued open with sand. Of course, Harry muttered curses under his breath, what he was looking for was found in the one book that reeked of Dark Magic and made Harry nauseous when he touched it for too long.

If he wasn't one hundred percent sure that the Malfoys would go after Derek and his family, he might have actually considered mocking Draco Malfoy for having a squib uncle. Cousin. Whatever.

To be continued...
End Notes:
Cheers!


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